


Solace

by geekyjez



Series: Isii Lavellan [47]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Break Up, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Post-breakup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 19:46:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3262166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekyjez/pseuds/geekyjez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Solas x Lavellan) Set after THE THING. This isn’t how Lavellan imagined things would be when Solas finally visits her bed during the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Solace

**Author's Note:**

> Reading [Still Hurting](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3262205) first gives the fight in this story more context, but this is optional.

Healing was never one of her strengths.

Even in the earliest days of travelling with her, before their budding friendship and the whirling catastrophe of their intimacy, he had always been the one to seal her wounds. Fingertips would dance lightly over skin, a casual brush buzzing with tendrils of energy, the tingle as cells multiplied and reconnected, fibers of flesh seeking each other out and bonding, weaving new life over old scars. When Dorian had come to him, describing his concerns, Solas had not been prepared for the state she had put herself in. When she faced him, she was cut, bruised, swollen. Her lip was split, a rough scrape above her brow scabbing where flesh had been grated away. Seeing her like this made him angry, filled him with guilt. The Tevinter mage could have healed these wounds if he was patient and careful; if she had let him. Solas could not help but think she was doing this in some way to punish him – to make him see the more visceral effect of him withdrawing from her. It was immature. Manipulative. It spoke of a vindictiveness he had never seen in her.

He tried to maintain his composure, tried to speak to her rationally. Keeping her calm was as futile as trying to capture the winds of a tempest. She unleashed her fury, screaming at him, not caring for the public nature of their discussion, the way her voice carried through the towering levels above. He could not tell if he was embarrassed for her or himself when he avoided the glances of others in Skyhold as the day pressed on, but he was aware of their whisperings. The last thing he had ever wanted was to humiliate her – but soon everyone would know how disastrously things had ended between them, if they had not suspected it before.

His thoughts were troubling him still as night fell. He had not anticipated this. He knew she would be confused by his actions. He expected her to feel hurt. But she had appeared so strong in all the time he had known her. She had come to him self-assured and confident. He had never known any other side of her. He had wounded her in some way he had not predicted and it worried him. He could not ignore the feeling that he had made the wrong decision; that he should have delayed ending their relationship. He had wanted to remove himself as a distraction, yet she seemed more preoccupied than ever before. It frightened him to think of her going into combat in this state. Whatever this masochistic streak was, he had to try and end it. He feared what would happen if she was forced to face Corypheus this way; if her heart remained raw when the final battle came to claim her. He would see that weakness in her. He would use it.

It was these thoughts that drove him to her quarters, despite the voice that sought to convince him that this was another one of his well-intentioned yet nonetheless terrible ideas. The room was dark as he quietly ascended the stairs, lit only by the moonlight that poured in through the tall archways of her balcony. He paused at the top step, seeing her curled on her side in her nightclothes, laying on top of the blankets of a bed not properly slept in. Her back was to him, her breathing slow.

He began to rethink his intentions, realizing he knew nothing of what to say to her. He had come to her impulsively, desperate to help her, to take away the damage he had done to her somehow without knowing the means. Impulsivity had already been his downfall when it came to her. He lingered, hesitating. He should go.

“Don’t just stand there.”

Her voice startled him; the full alertness of it made it clear she had not been asleep. She rolled over, sitting up as she studied him. “I shouldn’t be surprised. I leave my door open to you for months and only now do you choose to make use of it.” Her voice held a bitter edge as she lifted her hand, breathing life and fire into the candles that lit the room. Even at this distance, the light showed him how heavy her eyes looked, how pink they had become. “What do you want, harellan?”

The irony of her word choice was not lost on him, though her anger still stung from the day’s earlier wounds. The sentiment was still there, but she seemed worn now. While this afternoon her rage had been a roaring blaze, now it was a mere ember, lacking in power or heat. He calmly approached her bedside, sitting along the edge opposite her. “I came to apologize, Lethallan.”

“Don’t call me that.” She snapped. “You are not my kin. And I doubt I could even call you a friend.”

“Ma nuvenin.” He murmured sadly. He studied her face as she sat stiffly across from him. “I am sorry for how I have handled things. It was wrong of me. I did not expect it to affect you like this.” Her scoff was spiteful. “I do not come here to judge you for your actions. Only to ask that you reconsider the additional harm you are putting yourself through. I do not want to see you destroy yourself over this.”

Her laugh was more forceful now, an alien noise that didn’t come close to resembling the beautiful rippling sound he was used to hearing from those lips. “You think too highly of yourself, Solas. Do you really think you hold that much power over me?”

“Can you look at your reflection and deny that you are being self-destructive?” She quieted at that, lowering her gaze. He reached over, lifting her chin to bring her eyes to his face. “Will you let me heal you?”

He watched her, awaiting her answer. There was a hesitation there. Her ears tilted as she thought it over, that little flex of her temples that he’d always found so endearing. The raging torrent of the afternoon had drained her. Now, there was nothing left but a hollow sadness. It was difficult for him to meet her eye.

She nodded slowly. She shifted closer to him and he began his work, fingertips and magic lightly caressing skin. He tried to focus on the damage that he was erasing. He did not want to look into her eyes. Not as they scanned his face, narrowing, watering. He did not like to think his touch had this effect on her now, but he could tell she was hanging by some thread that now pulled taut, a building tension in her jaw. She was breaking down, a slow-descending avalanche. His hand moved to her lips, running across them, stitching back the broken flesh and he felt her tremble, saw her grimace. It was when he had finished, when he pulled his hand away that she gripped the front of his tunic, burying her face against the back of her fists, a hard shudder racking through her shoulders. He could hear the pitch and rhythm of her breaths shift, unsteady and strained. He ran his fingers over her hair comfortingly, tucking strands behind her ear as he listened to her continue to fight against her tears.

“Ma’din numin, Lavellan.”

“You’re an idiot.” Her voice was quiet. Muffled.

“I have my moments.”

She shifted closer, burying her face against his neck. He could feel the dampness on his skin as her voice pinched. “Please…” she choked out. He closed his eyes. He didn’t want this. “Please just tell me what I did wrong. Tell me how to fix this.”

He drew her from him, looking down into her face. She looked so fragile then, so weak and defeated, so unlike the woman he knew. “It was never you. This was my doing alone. I never wanted to hurt you.”

“Then don’t.” She pressed her lips to his. It was unlike any kiss she had given him before. It spoke of desperation and pain, crying for tenderness. Her tears pressed onto his cheeks and his stomach sank. He pulled away, but her hands found the nape of his neck, holding him close, hiding her face against his cheek. She was shaking, tears flowing freely. “Tell me you loved me. Please. I need to know you loved me once.” When she lifted her head to look at him, he felt his resolve give way.

“I never stopped.”

When she moved to his lips again, he did not push her away. He allowed her to take what she needed from him, aching because he had hurt her so thoroughly. He knew how he felt for her, the intensity of it, how she was unique in all the world to him. There would never be another. He had never truly believed that she could have felt the same for him. He knew that she loved him, but he expected that love to somehow be shallower, easier to wade across and drain away. This was deeper, hurt more, as if a part of her was cleaved away and she was sinking in the undertow. He had been a fool to lead her on, a selfish bastard for thinking he could enjoy her temporarily without consequences. She was another mistake, in a long line of mistakes, a tumbling succession of failures and promises left unfulfilled. He did not want to live like this anymore. He wanted to change, but he couldn’t. He was trapped on this path and it would leave her in his wake.

It was when her hands began to tug at his clothing, fingers hunting for skin, seeking the comfort his body could give that he knew this had to stop. He pulled her hands from him, breaking away from her lips.

“Please don’t.” She rasped. She knew what was coming. He pressed his forehead to hers, closing his eyes.

“Ir abelas.”

He rose to leave then, not turning back even as he heard her breaths shudder with a fresh wave of tears.

It was never supposed to be like this.

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:
> 
> harellan – trickster. Related to Fen’Harel. Someone who is untrustworthy. A dreaded friend.
> 
> ma’din numin – don’t cry
> 
> ir abelas – I am sorry/I am filled with sorrow.
> 
> ***  
> This is actually one of the earlier fics I wrote - it hurts so much more to re-read it after having written so much more of their relationship leading up to this point.


End file.
